


Almost (Sweet Music)

by Kikithehousemoose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Music, Molly Weasley - Freeform, POV First Person, Past Relationship(s), Pining, past wolfstar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 21:32:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18535894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikithehousemoose/pseuds/Kikithehousemoose
Summary: Be still, my foolish heart. Don't ruin this on me.





	Almost (Sweet Music)

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, this fic is inspired by Hozier's "Almost (Sweet Music)", and also my general love for Tonks. Listening to the song while reading enhances the experience, but is not required.
> 
> Also yeah I know the tenses are Wonky. For once it's intentional. Remus is going in and out of telling the story and being in the moment.

 

Maybe it was the first time her hair turned black.

 

She always was a little pixie goth. She looked young enough to be a student-- I think she was, at the time. She looked so young, and I felt so old. She was making a statement with her hair; it was all the people we’d already lost, the darkness of a Death Eater’s sky. It was edgy and poetic. I was the only one who really smiled. She caught my eye; I saw the relief on her face. I would never call her childish for it. I appreciated the sentiment.

It was down to her shoulders that day, frizzled and split like it had never seen a day of conditioner. I thought it was a wig at first. ~~I thought it was you, at first.~~ Then she spoke, with a voice of clashing brass, and I saw her for herself.

 

  
Maybe it was the time she found a flask of Firewhisky on a Death Eater and bottomed it in seconds.

 

It had been a long night, and a long day before that. Her face was already red from exertion. Her eyes were red too, hollowed and vibrant in their hate. We searched the body for identifying markers, and for clues. It was no one we had known. Sometimes it was. ~~Sometimes I look for his face,seeking some sick satisfaction in knowing he was finished.~~ I’m never satisfied.

“They brought a drink!” It was a ridiculous way to end the night. The flask glinted in the wandlight. I remember the time we tried to make potions with it-- we mixed all sorts of things that had ended badly for us. Pomfrey refused to keep all of us near each other in the hospital wing; she made us wretch our concoctions in buckets as far apart as possible.

“Enough to go around?” I ask. It could be poisoned. We both know it could be. But she uncaps and sniffs it, ~~grinning just like you did.~~ “Nope. Plenty for me though.”

She knocked it back. Her skin lit up in a way I would never see again, alight with fire from the inside. Steam escapes from her pores, the red engulfing her until it’s the only color I can see. She lets out a cry of sick satisfaction. She looked like a dragon, the way she unfurled herself, feeling the burn like it was the only thing she’d felt all night. It should have been concerning. It was adorable.

 

  
Maybe it was when I got back from a month in Wales.

 

The world swayed with each step I took, the ground vibrating through my body, shaking me like a leaf. There was a half-healed old scar that they had traced with their claws. There was the sting of where their teeth had grazed my back. There was a bruise taking up half my face that must have concealed some broken bone that I hadn’t been able to find. I’d gone to a den of enemies and made only one friend. But now, I felt alone again, crawling back to G12, content to fall onto the floor there and never get up again.

I think I do black out, because when I wake up again, she’s leaned over me. She’s moved me to the couch, stomach down, and was trying her hand at stitching my wounds closed with magic. They wouldn’t, not with pure magic, but she was trying. I make no noises yet, I just watch her.

She clicks her teeth when she’s thinking. Her nails are painted with a palette of colors, chipped and short, probably by biting. Her hair is purple this time, a curled so that she doesn’t have to brush it, though it looks more matted than anything. She looks pent-up, giving this task her full attention. I knew that prior to this, she probably paced around the manor, venting to paintings about not being given anything to do.

If I close my eyes, I can imagine it’s you. But I don’t want to. Something grounds me in that moment. I open my eyes again, and I just… appreciate her.

 

Be still, my foolish heart.

 

  
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

None of us got together for Christmas. I couldn’t afford it, anyway. But Molly found me the day after and pulled me into her home with a stern lecture about brooding and social hygiene. Molly could make anyone feel better. She makes me feel better, too.

My cup of hot chocolate will never get cold. The twins are tying Ginny up like a present; she’s hitting them. Bill is trying to show Ron how to tie a tie. Percy is helping to clean up, if only to avoid the chaos.

Molly asked me about her. She knows. Of course she knows. I get some color back when I talk about her, apparently. Not that I make a habit of talking about her.

“It can’t work” I tell her “I’m too old. I’m too poor. I’m--”

“I never said anything about you, Remus” Molly scolds “I want you to tell me about her.”

I know she already knows about Tonks. We’re all in the Order together, and Tonks made a point to be hard to miss. I avoid eye contact.

I think about her Patronus. A jack rabbit. I think about how she looks when she casts it. It’s a precaution we take, little more than a safety measure, but she smiles every time. Sometimes it’s soft; most of the time, it’s a smirk. She smiles like she’s winning a game that I invented the rules to. She always smiles like she’s one step ahead, like she knows something no one else does. She laughs like she’s had a victory, however large or small.   
She makes me laugh sometimes too. I didn’t think I could laugh again. I didn’t think there could ever be a stupid joke that would fill my soul enough to force so much as a smile to bubble out. I didn’t think a string of curse words could ever be entertaining. I didn’t think someone making me turn around to come face-to-face with a raccoon’s face would be what I needed in such a broken, lonely time.

I laugh like me again. She laughs like you.

“Molly” I ask, later, my voice quiet, my eyes wet. “What am I to do?”

Molly must see how helpless I am. I must look as much like a boy as I feel, 11 years old again, with a uniform barely kept on my skinny form by a belt, lost in a world that should feel so familiar. She pulls me into a hug, every bit of a mother I need in that moment.

“Time is short, Remus” she reminds me. Tonks says that too, later. I think they’ve conspired. “You can’t risk your life every day without having someone to risk it for. Go get her. Go fall in love while you’ve the chance to.”

Fall in love. I’m afraid to. I’d done it a hundred times. I’ve fallen in love with books, with smells, with foods, with places, with animals. With you.   
But I think of her, and I choke.

 

Even now. Even after I fall in through our door, chased by the dawnlight. Even when we lay naked in bed, listening to the radio prattle off bad news that we’d already known, seeing the faint outlines of our protection spells. She drifts in and out of sleep, clean and beautiful. Dirty with my touch.

I lie awake. I feel my pulse through my body. It cracks me open, some fool’s geode. She exposed, then filled me. I unveiled, then worshipped her. I feel raw. I feel young. I feel frightened. I feel honored.

I think of you. I did love you. I do love you. And in a way, this night feels familiar. Both of us holding tightly to the ever-elusive sense of solitude. Burned out, peaceful. At this angle, if her hair was black, if she had a stubble…

I turn to look at her. Her hair is pink. It’s short, like her. Her face is dark, angled. She’s healthier than you ever were. Than either of us were.   
I look at her, and I feel a pulse of life.  
 _There’s my heart._

 

Tonks shifts. She stretches slowly, savoring the moment. She turns to me, awake, and asks “Is everything alright?”

I reach out to take her hand. She looks so young. I feel so old. Her face is square. Particular. Her eyes are green tonight. I’m almost me again. She’s almost you.

But she’s not.   
She’s everything I need.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” I kiss her. I never think I’m kissing anyone else. I never have to.

You kissed like you never planned ahead. She kisses like she has her whole life planned out.

 

Be still, my foolish heart. Don’t ruin this on me. 


End file.
